


Always Someone Better

by lowflyingfruit



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowflyingfruit/pseuds/lowflyingfruit
Summary: What Jason hadn't known when Batman scooped him off the streets was how much it sucked to be the second and second-best child. Five times Jason felt inferior to Dick, and a reversal he didn't savour like he thought he would.





	Always Someone Better

It was Friday afternoon, Dick was visiting from New York, and he was being  _nice_ to Jason.

He'd just come home from school. On his own, thanks, he didn't need any butler to pick him up and take him home, he didn't care if it took an hour each way. And when he'd walked into the kitchen like he usually did, Dick was at the worktable with a vegetable peeler butchering carrots, toothy white smile on his face.

Alfred's moustache was twitching with amusement.

"What are  _you_ doing here?" Jason asked.

"Master Jason," Alfred said reprovingly, "This is Master Richard's home as well. He is every bit as free to come and go from this house as you are, and that is not an appropriate manner in which to greet anyone."

Dick pretended like Jason hadn't said anything. "I'm just home for the weekend, Jay," he said brightly. "I thought we could spend some time together, if you don't mind, that is. I know B can be a real misery guts sometimes, and I've been pretty busy since he adopted you. I'd kind of like to change that seeing as we're practically brothers now."

Busy, he called it. Jason had heard some of the screaming match he'd had with Bruce over Jason's adoption. Neither of them had realised he was there, watching from safely behind a corner, since Jason wasn't fool enough to stick his head into  _that_. He'd never seen Bruce angry like that, all red in the face and clenched fists, and Dick hadn't even been speaking English he was so mad. Jason didn't understand whatever language it was Dick had been using, but he recognised curses when he heard them. Neither of them had taken a swing at the other. Jason reckoned it had been close to that point. He could put two and two together. Dick had been avoiding the manor, 'cause of Jason. And that was just fine with him.

Dick finished off his pitch with another toothy smile. Those perfect teeth probably got him just about anything he wanted. Jason was just about to say  _fuck off_ (since nobody who used a smile to get their way ever wanted anything _nice_ ) when Alfred, that traitor, said, "An excellent idea, Master Richard."

Jason took one look at Alfred and saw the lay of the land. Whether or not he liked it, he was going to have to spend time with Dick.  _Brothers_. Yeah, as if. How many brothers started screaming at dad when they found out they had a brother? "Fine, whatever," Jason said.

"I thought we could spend some time downstairs, too," Dick persisted. The wattage on that smile got even more blinding. "B keeps telling me how impressed he is with your progress."

Liar. Bruce kept telling  _him_ that he wasn't fast enough, wasn't agile enough, wasn't balanced enough, too hasty, too rash, too aggressive. Every night it was like that, and Jason could hear the message behind it: Dick was all those things. Jason would show him, though. He was going to prove that he was every bit as good as Dickface there.

This might actually be a good thing. He'd never trained with Dick before, or really seen him in action. This was his chance to see what he was competing against. "Okay," Jason agreed.

"Great!" Dick chirped. "You ready?"

"Give me a few minutes to change."

As he left, he heard Dick ask, "So what's for dinner?" Whatever Alfred said, Dick followed it up with a clearly audible, "My favourite! Thanks, Alfred!"

Half an hour later, Dick had already kicked him from one end of the Batcave to the other. Turned out he was every bit as good as Bruce had implied. He was so  _fast_ , twisting away from every blow. Worse - "You're stronger than you look," Jason said, after Dick knocked him down with what seemed like zero effort. It wasn't fair.

"Acrobat," Dick said, smiling. "I probably weigh twice what you do, too. Lots of muscle, but as little bulk as possible. That wasn't all strength, though. Come on, stand up, and I'll show you how to set yourself to take that hit."

It took ages, but at last Dick pronounced that he'd got the right idea. "There you go," he said. "Soon enough you're going to be all but impossible to knock over."

"You think?" Jason asked.

"Yep." He crouched down so he was eye level with Jason. "I know B doesn't praise you much to your face. You're doing fine, trust me."

"I don't want to do fine," Jason said, scowling. "I want to do  _better_." He was going to be the best Robin Bruce could ever ask for.

Dick laughed, which only made Jason scowl all the harder. He got the impression Dick thought he was  _cute_. Jason had bitten the last person who'd called him cute, then run for it. "Would you like to learn something Bruce can't teach you? I used to use it a lot when I was Robin, and you're still small enough for it." He tried, but he couldn't keep all the bitterness out of his voice.

He  _would_ \- he wanted to know all Dick's moves and more. But at the same time, he didn't trust Dick. Dick hated him being Robin. "Show me first," Jason said.

"All right," Dick said. "I have to tie a few things up there anyway. I'll give you a show while I do, huh? Preview of Robin skills."

Jason watched as Dick chalked up his hands and climbed the rigging at the top of the cave. Bruce didn't let him up there unsupervised, and as much as he wanted to, Jason didn't dare break that rule. It sounded like a serious one. He had consoled himself with the knowledge that Bruce would have to teach him eventually. And Dick just went up there like it was no big deal. It wasn't even his house anymore. Not really.

Then Dick swan dived off the topmost platform. He caught himself on the way down, easily. His body wrapped around a rope as he swung out further across the space. He looked weightless and boneless. As he launched himself from one rope to another, he looked like he was  _flying_. Like a fucking bird. Jason had exactly enough training to know that what Dick made look as easy as breathing really, really wasn't.

Fuck, he was  _never_ going to be able to do that. Never.

He turned away and saw Bruce. He was standing at the place where the steps opened up onto the cave, and where you could see everything happening in the cave. Including anything happening in the rigging. And Bruce was just standing there, completely frozen, eyes fixed on Dick. Like he could stand there for hours watching. Like Dick's display was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Okay, Jay," Dick called. He was hanging upside down, now, gathering some ropes together as easily as if he were right side up. "Some pointers on landing from a fall about this height. You ready?"

Jason turned back around, for some reason feeling like he'd had the wind knocked out of him and not wanting to look at either Dick _or_ Bruce. "'Course I am," he said.

 

\---

 

It was a standard Wayne Party(tm), and in Jason's opinion it was the worst one he'd been forced to attend yet. After two and a half years of living at Wayne Manor, and a year and a half of being officially adopted, there was some stiff competition.

There was a baseline for this sort of event. It would start around the time most people would really want to be eating, it finished too late for him and Bruce to go out on patrol, it was always packed with snobs, and the food wasn't anywhere near as good as Alfred's. That was the best case scenario. Mostly it was worse.

Tonight, it was definitely worse. Penguin had got lucky three nights ago and hit him in the ribs with that umbrella of his, cracking two ribs. So no training beforehand to bleed off energy. No patrol, of course. No sneaking champagne, since that messed with the painkillers. And the painkillers were wearing off. The combination was making him cranky.

"Oh, my, haven't you got  _tall_ , Jason!"

The guests were not making it any easier. Bruce's orders. He had to be  _polite_.

"Lots of healthy food, ma'am," he said.

"Oh, my, yes," the woman gushed. Jason couldn't even remember her name. Not a Wayne employee, not someone from the old families of Gotham (he couldn't believe that that was the sort of thing he knew now), someone from the next tier down. He'd learned from experience that they were the  _really_ vicious snobs. She was dressed like the new money, too, with just a few too many ruffles in her blouse to pass. "It must be such an improvement on what you had before, you poor thing."

And the snobs who weren't vicious were oblivious, exactly like that. Sure, the food  _was_ better than he'd had on the streets. Duh. He got more of it, too. But they didn't have to say it like - "I'm not a kitten Bruce picked up from a puddle," he snapped, before even thinking about it.

"Well! I'll be!" Annette, that was her name. Annette something, married to one of the infinite Jameses in Gotham's upper classes. "Aren't you rude."

Polite. Screw that.

"I'm not the one treating people like pitiable little animals," Jason growled. His ribs hurt. He still had a stack of homework to get through, too, which he'd been putting off because he'd been trying to perfect the krav maga Bruce was teaching him. And he  _fucking hated_ these parties. "From where I stand, you're the one being rude."

That perked her husband's big ears right up. "Excuse me?" he said, whipping around. His garish green tie flicked around too, pulling free of its clip. "Did you just call my wife rude, young man?"

"Damn right I did," Jason said. "Because she was."

He watched as James' face turned a red that clashed even worse with that green tie than his skin tone already did. Satisfying as it was to call out the bullshit he had to listen to at every goddamned party Bruce made him go to, he knew that Bruce was going to be so  _disappointed_ -

"What's going on here, then?" a familiar voice asked. "You're not causing trouble for Jay, are you, Mr Rimes?"

It was said with a lightness that made it almost impossible to take offence. Dick melted effortlessly the rest of the way through the crowd, not pushing, just easing. He looked like he'd walked off a magazine cover, tuxedo perfect, hair artlessly mussed, and smile set for maximum charm. Dick was unfairly good-looking to start with. He came to stand next to Jason, casually draping an arm around his shoulder. Standing next to him, Jason felt gawky and plain, all limbs and weird proportions. He was sure his tie wasn't straight.

Dick didn't wait for a response from either Rimes, just turned to Jason and said, "Or is it you who's terrorising the guests, Jay? Someone disagree with you about  _The Great Gatsby_ again? Or  _Crime and Punishment_? You know what Bruce said, this isn't a literary salon, and he feels left out when he can't keep up. We gotta be good hosts, you know."

"That was one time," Jason grumbled. Maybe twice, but Dick hadn't caught him the second time, so it didn't count.

"You have to be careful with him," Dick said to the Rimes couple, blasting them with a smile Jason instinctively distrusted. These suckers might fall for it, but Jason knew how manipulative Dick could be. "He loves books. He'll talk about them for hours. You'll let me rescue you, won't you?"

"Yes, of course, go ahead, Mr Grayson," Annette Rimes said. Like most people, she couldn't stand up to a full dose of Grayson charm. James Rimes looked like he might protest, but another few seconds of Dick's smile and he caved as well.

To Jason's surprise, Dick whisked him out of the room entirely, through the kitchen, and into Alfred's private rooms, where the man himself was waiting. A bad sign. "Here he is," Dick said. "Disaster averted."

"Thank you, Master Richard. Keep up the good work."

Dick smiled more genuinely and headed right back out, back to working the room as Bruce had instructed. Jason looked at his slightly scuffed shoes, not wanting to make eye contact with Alfred. They'd been at mirror shine at the start of the night, but he'd kicked a table and there went the finish. But no matter how long he waited, Alfred could wait longer. "'m sorry," he said.

"Quite. I understand that many of the guests are, as you might say, irredeemable assholes, and these evenings are tedious in the extreme, but it is vital that you keep your composure, Master Jason. They are an important part of our cover."

"So I should just stand there and take it?" Jason asked.

"That is one option," Alfred said. "Another is to find a better way of fighting back than simply picking fights. You are good with words, when you put your mind to it. I suggest you do so."

He could work out what that meant, even from Alfred. Smile and say something clever to defuse the situation. Make those assholes feel good about themselves so they let everything go. _Be more like Dick, Jason._ Jason scowled and kicked at the nearest chair, not even caring about his shiny shoes.

 

\---

 

It was so early on Saturday morning that most people would still call it Friday night, and Jason was spying on Nightwing. Rain ran down his hood and dripped down the back of his neck, but he held his position. It had an excellent view in through Dick's apartment window. Jason's so-called brother had arrived home after eight, stuffed his face with cereal, and then had a nap. It was riveting viewing.

Sooner or later he'd get up and go on patrol. Jason knew it. He'd found the pattern. Nightwing didn't patrol Friday night, but very early Saturday morning. That would be more interesting. He wanted to know if Nightwing had changed at all while Jason had been dead. He needed to do this recon before he moved against Bruce.

Inside the apartment, Dick's phone buzzed to life. Dick jerked awake instantly and answered. "Yeah," he said, voice carrying through the few bugs Jason had dared place. "Come on over, I was just about to head out anyway."

Thirty seconds later Jason saw a blur that resolved into the yellow-clad form of Wally West. "Hey," West said. "Just had a question about a scene I ran into on patrol. Thought I'd consult a detective."

"As long as you don't mind consulting a sleepy detective," Dick said. "What've you got?"

"Have a look." West handed over a thumb drive.

Dick plugged it into his laptop, screen angled away from Jason. "How's Linda?" he asked as he read or examined whatever the hell West had brought him.

"You know her. Always on the go."

They chatted for a little while (in the meantime the trickle of rainwater working its way underneath Jason's coat reached the middle of his back, to his discomfort and intense irritation), before Dick said, "Okay, see here? And here? Look into them. They should know a bit more."

"Thanks, Dick," West said. "Hey, don't forget we're still on for next Saturday. You, me, and Roy."

"It's in my calendar," Dick replied.

West left after that, and Dick  _finally_ started to get ready for patrol. Took him long enough. Jason didn't need to see Dick hanging out with his infinite amount of friends. Jason had never liked them; they'd never liked Jason. They weren't important, until and unless Dick called them up to sic them on him.

When Dick at last launched himself from his window, doing a flip on the way down because he was a peacock, Jason's real test began. Following Nightwing over the rooftops undetected was a challenge and a half. He almost wished Dick hadn't changed his costume, because then at least he'd be able to keep track of him in the shadows. On the upside, the costume change meant that Jason's fashion sense wasn't anywhere near as insulted.

Within fifteen minutes Nightwing had found a fight to intervene in, because this was Bludhaven, after all. Jason wouldn't have minded intervening himself. He was still wet and grumpy, after all, and taking it out on some thugs could only improve his evening. It was crime control. That was what he was here for.

Nightwing set about the group of goons delivering contraband, laughing. To Jason's dismay, he was still every bit as skilled as he had been before Jason's death, if not more. The gap between them was smaller, Jason consoled himself.  _Way_ smaller. No longer could Dick casually knock him over like he had when Jason was little.

If he had to fight Dick, he'd just stay back and shoot him. See if his fancy acrobatics could get him out of  _that_.

With that group down, Nightwing continued on patrol, and Jason followed after. Small-time drug deal, stopped. Convenience store robbery, stopped. Mugging stopped. Then a second.

It was just like Gotham. Dick went around knocking a few heads together but it never actually stopped anything for good. The criminals here weren't even scared of him like the ones in Gotham were scared of Batman. They saw his flippy shit and his smile and didn't care. Why would they? Nightwing just wasn't scary. The longer he watched the more convinced Jason was that he could actually do it. He could actually take down Dick if he needed to.

Near the end of patrol, Nightwing stopped all of a sudden above an alley, just the same as fifty other alleys they'd passed in this godforsaken city. The rain was finally easing off, and Jason was just about done. He didn't know what Dick had spotted. But he followed at the same careful distance as he'd followed Dick all patrol.

Dick dropped down to the ground, actually making some noise when he landed. He headed towards something at the end of the alley - a huddled figure, Jason realised, that was a teenage boy beaten bloody and crying quietly. There was no sign of whoever had attacked him. Just the kid, a bit younger than Jason himself.

Nightwing approached, hands open and visible. "Hello," he said quietly, staying out of arm's reach. "Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like me to call an ambulance?"

The kid started crying harder. Dick drew closer. "I'm not going to hurt you. Nobody else is going to hurt you tonight, I promise. I'll just sit down right next to you."

Nightwing kept making soothing noises as the kid slowly uncurled from his little ball of agony and leaned against him, still sobbing his eyes out. "There we go," Dick said. "Just let it out and then we'll make sure you'll be okay. Will you let me check to see if you have a concussion?"

Jason left him to it, feeling oddly ashamed of himself.

 

\---

 

It was surprising even to Jason himself, but he actually _liked_ his replacement. He was smart, smarter than Jason, without being a know-it-all, and when you caught him in the right mood, he had a wicked sense of humour. "Thanks for your help with this," Tim said, as they took up position on top of the warehouse.

Not to mention it was gratifying how Tim seemed to actually like him back, and want him around.

"Nobody likes it when Scarecrow gets it into his head to start drugging Gotham," Jason said. "He still using aerosols or did he swap to needles?" Crane's concoctions were even worse when injected, but he wasn't much of a fighter. It was much easier to deal with him when he wasn't fighting back with a spray can of fear gas.

"Aerosols," Tim said, and Jason groaned. "Everyone's favourite. Here's the pack of antidotes."

"They never work," Jason complained. "He upgrades the formula every time."

"It takes the edge off," Tim said. "B goes for the broad spectrum when he develops them, since he's not the chemist Crane is."

"Who is?" But he accepted the antidotes all the same. Better take the edge off than have your heart stop from terror. Scarecrow was  _dangerous_. "We alone on this one?"

Red Robin shook his head. "Nightwing and Robin are backing us up."

His voice was slightly bitter, and that was the  _other_ reason Jason didn't mind the replacement's company all that much. He knew what it was like. For once in your life, you thought someone might care about you and respect you, and nope. You got the rug whipped right out from under you. It might have been even worse for Tim than it had been for Jason, since at least Jason could see that he'd been replaced by someone half decent at the job. Damian was a little shit and a loose cannon. It must have stung that Dick chose someone like that over him.

But Tim wouldn't appreciate Jason mentioning that now. "Right," he said. "I'll go in first."

It went wrong. When Scarecrow was involved they almost always did. It was Tim who got the faceful of fear gas, while Jason was off dealing with some of the hired muscle. Red Robin kept it together long enough to cuff Crane, but as soon as he did, he collapsed.

Jason raced over, activating his comms. "Nightwing, Robin, come in. Red Robin's down with fear gas."

"Got it," Nightwing said sharply. "We'll be there in two."

He crouched down next to Red Robin and put a hand on one shaking shoulder. "C'mon, Red. Keep it together. Backup is on its way."

"Nightwing?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, Nightwing's coming."

"Good," Tim said. "I'm scared."

Under the mask his skin was paper white and clammy. Jason took his pulse. Too fast. Not dangerously so, not yet, but getting there. He injected Tim with the antidote, dragged Crane away and cuffed him to a post for good measure, and waited for Nightwing and Robin to arrive.

As promised, it wasn't long.

"Red Robin," Nightwing said, hurrying over to where Jason was sitting with Tim. "Fear gas?"

"Yep," Jason said.

Nightwing sat down on Tim's other side, and the younger boy didn't flinch away. "Oh, Red. We'll get you home, okay? Robin's called for the car already. Whatever you're seeing isn't real." Dick stroked Tim's arm gently. "It's not real. You're safe. Hood and I won't let anyone hurt you."

Tim whimpered, and curled towards Dick. Dick draped an arm over him and started making soft, meaningless noises to soothe him.

Jason wasn't jealous. He  _wasn't_. It was just - what did Dick have to  _do_ to someone to stop being their favourite? It hadn't been Bruce who fired Tim. It was Dick. Tonight, Jason had been there for the whole operation. Jason had administered the antidote. And yet when Tim was vulnerable, so frightened and out of his head he couldn't stand up, it was still Dick who he turned to for comfort. Still Dick who he wanted more.

As they loaded Tim into the Batmobile, Dick said quietly, "It doesn't mean he doesn't care about you."

"What?"

"Tim. Looking to me. It doesn't mean he doesn't care about you."

Jason scowled. "I'm not worried about that."

"Good, because you shouldn't be. Right now you're probably more important to him than anyone else. I've just done this for him a few times before. That's all." He smiled, and for once it wasn't the sort of smile where you could blind yourself on his teeth. He almost looked sad. "I'm glad you're there for him, Jay. You going to come back to the cave?"

"No," Jason said, and turned away.

 

\---

 

It was Jason's favourite time at the shooting range: ass o'clock and deserted.

"So this is where you get to all the time. It's very...professional."

Deserted except for his dickhead of an older brother. Dick was perched on a box of equipment, kicking his legs back and forth, and generally being a cheerful and distracting presence. "I didn't invite you," Jason said.

"I know. I just wanted to tag along. I missed you!"

Jason ground his teeth together and tried to focus on the target. "Maybe you shouldn't have faked your own death then. If you hadn't, you wouldn't have missed anyone." When next he glanced backwards, after emptying a clip into the target, Dick almost looked contrite. Not contrite enough, though, because Jason  _knew_ that he'd make the same decision again. If Bruce said frog, Dick would jump. That was just how it was. He called the target back and examined the results. They were acceptable. Sometimes he wished he had access to Bruce's sweet lethal force detectors, which let you know when you'd hit an "artery," but no way would Bruce loan them out so Jason could practice shooting.

"Ooh, good shooting, little brother," Dick said brightly. "Have you been practicing?"

"Only most days for the last several years," Jason said. "Flattery is not going to win you any points."

"What about a bit of friendly competition, then? Will _that_ win me any points?"

Jason snorted. "Do you even know which end is the barrel?"

"What sort of spy do you take me for?" Dick said, with a mock offended tone and a bright smile, hopping off his perch.

"The old British kind who got his job because of Daddy," Jason deadpanned. He put the gun down and invited Dick over. "You're on. Outshoot me and I'll go on patrol with you tonight. Lose and not only will you buy us both kebabs, you will eat one and tell Alfred all about it."

"You're a cruel man, Jason." But Dick picked up the gun anyway, checked it, hefted it and took up a stance for a few seconds, then relaxed and finally loaded it. "Can I test fire first? It's a bit heavier than the handguns I've used before."

"Sure. Have a clip."

He was feeling pretty confident. Bruce had taught Dick to shoot.  _Bruce_. He wasn't incompetent, but he was hardly the world's greatest firearms instructor either. And Dick only used guns once in a blue moon. He didn't hate them as much as Bruce did, but he didn't like them enough to practice with much either.

Dick made his test shots, and called his target back, tutting at the less-than-precise spread. Oh yeah, Jason was feeling good about this bet. "I'll go first," he said. His shots hit in a neat cluster in the centre of the bulls-eye. It wasn't the best shooting he'd ever done, but it was pretty close. He held up the paper in front of Dick and said, "Beat that."

Said Dick mournfully, "I hate kebabs." He took up his stance, which Jason could see was flawless, and fired.

When he called the target back, it wasn't as good as Jason's, but.  _But_. It was close. Jason was instantly swamped in petty, childish jealousy. It wasn't fair. Dick hardly ever practiced shooting, and Jason practiced almost every day. He was the gun expert in the family, and Dick just showed up and almost outdid him even though he had half the practice and was using a gun not suited to his hand.  _It wasn't fair_. 

"Kebabs are on me," Dick said.

Jason shoved the feeling back down and said, "I know a place."

 

\---

 

It was a mess. An absolute disaster. Or that was what Red Robin was telling him, anyway. "I need your help," Tim said. "Batman has got a concussion and can't drive himself back home, on top of the broken ribs, and Nightwing...the antidote worked, which is something, but now he's...loopy."

"Loopy?" Jason asked.

"Loopy. And clingy. He can't stay with us, he's going to hug B and make the rib injuries worse, if he doesn't try to hug _me_ and make me crash. I can't sedate him on top of everything else in his system. Can you keep him at yours for observation overnight?"

"I'm supposed to be on recuperation," Jason reminded him. "A whole week. A reward for, you know, shutting down Black Mask?" He'd done it practically solo and Jason could admit to himself, he was damn proud. He  _deserved_ the week off to let the muscle strain heal right. Clingy, huggy Nightwing would not help the muscle strain.

"I wouldn't ask unless it was an emergency," Tim said.

"All right, all right. Do I need to collect him, or is he fine to get here by himself?"

"I've got him strapped down in the backseat, but it's not going to hold. I'll be at your place in five minutes." With that, Red Robin hung up.

Cursing, Jason started putting away everything breakable, pointy, or explosive. If Dick was coherent enough to undo straps, but not enough to realise he couldn't squeeze the life out of someone with rib injuries, he could definitely hurt himself with some of the stuff Jason kept lying around. He'd got the worst of it locked away when there was a knock at his balcony window, followed by one sober vigilante and one off-his-face vigilante. With more than a little trepidation, Jason let them in.

The first thing Dick did was try to hug him, with a cry of "Jaaaaaaaaay!" He hit Jason like a wall of solid muscle, which was close to what he was.

"You see what I mean," Tim said. "I can't stay. Thanks for looking after him."

"You're welcome!" Jason shouted as Red Robin grappled away, struggling under Dick's weight. The good news was that Dick was so unbalanced that Jason could shove him over onto the couch. "Stay there, I'll get you some water." In a plastic bottle. With a nozzle. He wasn't trusting Dick with anything else.

Dick did not stay there. He followed Jason into the kitchen, weaving on his feet. "I can help," he insisted.

"No you can't," Jason said. "Sit  _down_."

Dick did not sit down, and there was an almighty crash as he knocked over the dish rack. Crockery shattered all over the floor. "Oops," Dick said.

"God damn it! What did I just say?"

"Sorry, Jason," Dick said. "I can help pick it up."

"No!" Jason manhandled Dick back into an armchair. Chastised, Dick was essentially deadweight. "God, you're pathetic."

To Jason's surprise, tears formed almost immediately in Dick's eyes. "I know," he said.

The only logical thing to do was add, "And manipulative." He shook his head. "No wonder daddy dearest loves you best, you've taken his favourite game to a whole new level."

"'s not a competition," Dick said. "Used to think so. Like I said, pathetic. Should've - should've been better. Treated you better. I was so jealous... Bruce was so happy. Couldn't talk to him without hearing how smart you were, how hard you worked, how fast you were catching up. Then I met you, and he wasn't making anything up. Should've been happy for him and proud of you. Not jealous." He looked up at Jason with watery, sincere eyes. "I know better now."

Fuck, he didn't have enough functioning brain to lie about it. Dick was telling the  _truth_. Jason's feet felt rooted to the floor. He'd always known Dick was jealous of Bruce's divided attention, back then, but - "You were jealous of  _me_?" Not what Jason represented, but Jason himself, as a person?

He couldn't believe it.

"Why wouldn't I have been?" Dick asked. "Wish you could see yourself like we see you. Me and Alfred and Bruce. We think you're pretty great."

"I am never looking after you while you're high ever again," Jason said. The hugs were bad, having half his plates smashed was worse, but Dick's confession just made him feel...off. Sad. Guilty, somehow. Definitely wrong-footed.

Dick lurched to his feet and tried to hug him again. It was more of a flop, but Jason couldn't just let him fall on his face. He wasn't sure where all the crockery shards were. "S'okay," Dick said into Jason's collar. "You'll get it. _It's not a competition._ "

Before Jason could make a coherent reply, Dick added, "I feel sick."

In the end Dick spent half the night throwing up, but long experience told them that no matter the antidote's side effects, it was way better than riding out the effects of anything Poison Ivy dosed them with. He did at least get Dick to stay hydrated, and even stuffed a few dry crackers down his throat. The effort had involved less metaphor than Jason had hoped. Off-his-face Dick was an even pickier eater than sober Dick.

Around eight in the morning, when the worst of it was over and Dick was finally coming down, he said, "I didn't get the chance to ask you about the details of the Black Mask thing, did I?"

"No," Jason said. "You didn't."

"I wanna hear about it. Tim said it was pretty cool." He settled back into the armchair, still looking a bit ill, but his eyes were more focused than they had been for several hours. "Details, Jay. Details."

Jason snorted. "Dickie, it was more than pretty cool. I kicked some serious ass."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and for any kudos, comments, or bookmarks!


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